


Reasons to Exist (And When They're Gone)

by everybreathagift



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Murder Husbands, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:32:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreathagift/pseuds/everybreathagift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly two years, and Will isn't angry, not anymore. He isn't dealing or waiting. He just misses. Finding more food and less liquor, working in a shipyard in Baton Rouge, adopting two new dogs that love walking around LSU. The porch light of his garden home stays on, the door locked only at night, a new number, and he misses.</p>
<p>Or; Hannibal tries on a selflessness suit, and Will doesn't think it fits quite right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reasons to Exist (And When They're Gone)

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to the perfectly perfect damnslippyplanet for her excellent editing skills! This was supposed to be a O/s but these two didn't want to shut up, so now, it's two.

He'd left. Jack with his peculiar cleverness and Alana with her unwavering attention, Hannibal had been the subject of a sudden investigation. Too sudden, before he could clean out freezers or toss his Rolodex, and so he'd left.

He took his drawings. He managed a few of his books, one of his small sculptures and even the folder of music he'd composed. What he didn't take, was Will.  

There hadn't been a phone call or a beautifully calligraphic note. No out of the ordinary letters or emails. He'd just left. Left Will behind.

Among things left behind was also a note, filled with lies about Will's innocence. How he had no idea about the crimes Hannibal was guilty of, as though Will hadn't helped him prepare dinner a hundred times. That Will was never a participant, as though he hadn't taught Will the proper way to drain a man so that he didn't leave a mess. Sentences that erased all the physical embodiments of poetry they'd created together.

They'd sworn, lying in Hannibal's bed with flushed cheeks and sore limbs, swore they'd never abandon one another. Hannibal promised that he'd reach Will, no matter what, ‘ _there isn't a force that could keep me from you_.’

Hannibal had lied. The threat of prison was force enough, and Will was left alone, trying desperately but completely unable to pick up the scattered pieces of himself.

At first, he'd waited. Left his door unlocked, his lights on, his phone always in his hand or pocket, even when he slept, even when he didn't. He walked his dogs and taught his classes and kept up appearances with plastic smiles, and he waited.

But three months in, waiting hurt too much, so he dealt. He didn't move on, didn't even consider the option, merely surviving on too little food and too much liquor. Took a break from teaching and let the dogs roam free. The lights stayed off, the doors stayed locked and his phone stayed off for days at a time, and he dealt.

A year, and somehow, dealing morphed into anger. He didn't hate Hannibal, he never could, but he wished he could hurt him, the way Will hurt. He quit teaching entirely, gave Winston and Buster to Alana before finding permanent homes for the rest, went through three fifths a day and one microwavable meal. The lights were shut off and the door was left open when he moved, phone permanently disconnected, and he raged.

Nearly two years, and Will isn't angry, not anymore. He isn't dealing or waiting. He just misses. Finding more food and less liquor, working in a shipyard in Baton Rouge, adopting two new dogs that love walking around LSU. The porch light of his garden home stays on, the door locked only at night, a new number, and he misses.

All the time, every little thing, kept sacred in the shared rooms of their palace. Hannibal in his kitchen, kissing the taste of wine from Will's lips. Red satin sheets tangled around them in bed, Hannibal smiling down at him. Millions of declarations and promises made, sworn into each other's skin with whispered words and gentle fingers.

He thinks that Hannibal would've enjoyed New Orleans, and he makes the one hour drive often, eating beignets that he's sure Hannibal could make better, watching the crowds roll by from his spot on the patio of Cafe’ Du Monde. River water scents around him, lungs filled with the Mississippi, and he wonders if Hannibal would've preferred this to his aftershave.

He only cries sometimes. He never sleeps in his bed.

Alana still calls on occasion, if only to tell Will how Winston and Buster are. Jack doesn't call at all, and Will tries not to miss him, too. There are times, when he catches a headline or overhears conversations of the world, that he mourns the lives of all the people he could've saved, had he stayed.

But Hannibal hadn't, so neither could he.

There's a waitress at his favorite diner who flirts with him every time he visits. Easy laughs and sweet eyes, reminding him not to order the apple pie because ‘ _it's just that frozen stuff reheated but I personally hand craft the blackberry pie_.’

Will tries to imagine himself flirting back, being anything more than polite, maybe kissing her or holding her hand and not telling her about a man he once knew who would be appalled by the pre-made crusts she uses. Dating, loving, living. But every time he tries, he feels betrayal thick in his throat, betrayal to a ghost and a person Will used to be, to something he used to have, and so he doesn't try anymore.

He works, he goes home, he feeds his dogs, and he _misses_.

**

“Have a good weekend, man,” Frank tells him, climbing into the cab of his beat up Chevy.

“You, too. Tell Linda I said hello.”

It's Friday. Will only knows because the universal, happy tension that coils in society for the weekend is bursting around him. Weekends mean fun, time spent with family and creating adventures. For Will, it's just more days, but he's thankful he can sleep in tomorrow. Somehow, this work is more strenuous than any darkness Jack had ever sent him into, physically if not mentally, so the relaxation will be nice.

He misses. With intensity, today, a night spent with two fingers of whiskey and strolls through their palace had seeped into the morning, draining him to the point of exhaustion by noon, and his mind is still thick with memories tonight.

Hannibal's overpriced cologne, how the smell had lingered on every piece of clothing Will had owned. Hannibal's smile, how he could show Will everything he was feeling with the barest of facial expressions. Hannibal's hands, smooth and gentle, gripping a pencil or a knife or Will's skin.

Will all but collapses in his chair after tending to the dogs, another two fingers of whiskey in his hand and tears pricking at his eyes, for the first time in weeks. He wants to sleep, to close off his mind to painful rememberings and spend the weekend in bed.

“You left Wolf Trap.”

For a moment, Will can only sigh, unable to even be upset that he's back to hallucinating again because Hannibal's voice is so clear, it makes goosebumps pebble over his skin. A voice he aches for daily, rough and elegant simultaneously.

Will keeps his eyes closed, almost scared to disturb the breaking of his mind. “Everywhere I looked, I saw you. You invaded every part of my life.”

“I've many things I wish to apologize for, but that is not one of them, lest you make the same amends. Even in places you've never touched, I saw you.”

Will sighs again because this hurts. His body betrays him and his heart breaks because of it. It's too tempting, to crawl into this imagining and live there in his mind forever, until reality withers his body from lack of sustenance and continue in death.

But when he opens his eyes to ward off that temptation, Hannibal isn't in Will's favorite suit, his hair isn't slicked back and his shoes aren't shined. He wonders, idly, what fantasy he's never discovered that has Hannibal in jeans, a grey t-shirt, and his hair pulled back in a bun.

Then Hannibal blinks, breathes, steps forward a fraction and Will's heart falters, then speeds. A sharp inhale and Will can _smell_ him, same overpriced cologne.

“Are you real?” Will asks, because he has to, because he can't be. Will knows a hallucination can't lie but this can't be real.

Hannibal tilts his head just the slightest bit, and his eyes crinkle with sadness. “No hallucinations, Will. I'm entirely real.”

“Or maybe I've officially lost it,” Will laughs, humorless. “Or maybe I'm dreaming, and you'll try to kill me in a minute.”

“Do I often kill you in your dreams?”

“No. You just tease me with the notion of it, and then disappear.”

Slowly, steadily, Hannibal walks toward him, perfect posture and an unreadable expression. Will gasps when warm fingers slip through his, pressing his hand against Hannibal's chest, right over his heart. Will can feel it beating quickly as Hannibal kneels in front of him.

“I won't disappear this time,” Hannibal promises quietly.

Will can only shake his head, closing his eyes against the sound of blood rushing in his ears. His heart is pounding, far faster than Hannibal's, and he can feel himself trembling.

_He's here._

“Where have you been?” Will chokes, fingers gripping Hannibal's sides.

Hannibal presses his palm to Will's cheek, taking a deep breath. “Will, I-”

“No,” Will demands, nearly knocking Hannibal to the ground as he stands and steps away. “You don't get to use that tone with me. Don't fucking placate me, Hannibal. Two years, and you just show up here?”

He's mad. Furious, even. Hannibal is still staring at the spot Will just vacated, dropping his hand to his side and he's here. He's beautiful in casual clothing and Will is so, so angry.

“I don't even want to think about how many people you killed to find me,” Will spits, pacing the floor as the idea of Hannibal killing anyone without him makes his chest tight. “Assuming and expecting, as you do, that I would be happy to see you.”

Slowly, Hannibal stands and faces him, all hard lines and a soft expression that makes Will ache. “I assumed, yes. It's apparent that I shouldn't have, and you have my sincerest apologies.”

Suddenly, Will's throat constricts when Hannibal takes a step back, and Will rushes forward, incapable of even considering that Hannibal could leave again.

“Of course I'm happy to see you, you bastard,” Will curses, roughly pulling Hannibal to him. “I shouldn't be. I should hate you. For a great number of things, least of all leaving me.”

Hannibal is so close, all but melting in Will's embrace and it's heaven and hell all at once. This man, this glorious, evil man still has him, still has Will's heart and mind, and Will couldn't fight it if he wanted to.

“You _left_ me,” Will breathes, filled with more sadness than anger now, chest shaking with desperation. “You left me alone. You left me _alive._ How could you do that to me? Why would you not grant me a single mercy of death?”

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal exhales, voice catching on it as he cups Will's cheeks, resting their foreheads together. “You believe I could survive in a world where you don't exist? I could not. My only thought was your life, your ability to endure and, possibly, move on to happiness.”

Will laughs, bitterly and full of anger again as he pulls back and swipes angrily at the tears on his face. He pushes away, takes a step back only to push close again and bury his face in Hannibal's chest, clinging even tighter than before because even a single second without contact seems unbearable to him at this point.

“How _dare_ you.” Will whispers harshly, digging his nails into the skin of Hannibal's biceps. “How dare you assume I would survive without you. How dare you make that decision for me.”

“I should not have. I realize that, now,” Hannibal whispers back, lips pressed to Will's hair. “Selflessness has never suited me.”

“Everything suits you,” Will mutters, nuzzling as he wraps his arms tight around Hannibal's waist. His limbs feel heavy. He's exhausted, and terrifyingly close to comfortable. “You still smell the same. Exactly how I remembered.”

“I can't say the same, unfortunately,” Hannibal says fondly. “You smell of other people, and river water, and liquor. And dogs. And oil.”

Will can't stop the small grin as he pulls back to look at Hannibal's face. “Are you saying I need a shower?”

“I'm saying that, usually,” Hannibal murmurs, leaning down to press his mouth to the curve of Will's neck, inhaling slowly, “your scent is nearly overwhelming for me, here, yet I can barely catch it at all.”

Despite shivering at the closeness, Will pretends to glare as he takes Hannibal's hand and leads him to the bathroom. “You could just say, ‘Yes, Will, you need a shower.’"

“That would be rude. Thankfully, you're relatively intuitive.” Hannibal doesn't let go of Will's hand as he turns the water on. He still doesn't let go when Will moves to undress.

“Relatively. You're getting in here with me. This looks… really great on you.” Will tugs at Hannibal's t-shirt. “Your hair is- take it down for me?”

“A necessary physical change, I'm afraid,” Hannibal sighs, pulling the black band from his hair. It falls to his shoulders, nearly entirely silver, and he rakes his fingers through it to keep it from his eyes.

Will licks his lips and just barely manages not to touch it. Long hair on him would look ridiculous and unkempt. Long hair on Hannibal is regal, distinguished, and does ridiculous things to Will's heart.

“This all looks really, really great on you.”

“Have a good look, then, dear-heart. I've no intention of adding Wranglers and second rate mixed cotton to my wardrobe.”

For a moment, Will is overwhelmed. He's looking at Hannibal, not a figment, not a dream, but him. Here. In Will's bathroom. Looking painfully out of place, his radiating elegance against the dingy wallpaper. Being as pretentious as he's always been, but still folding the offending shirt before setting it on the counter.

Hannibal shirtless certainly does nothing to ease the tightness in his chest, but it's not only lust -that's barely recognizable, honestly - it's that same all-encompassing emotion that he always felt with Hannibal. Some might describe it as ‘love’ but Will knows it's so far beyond that.

_I see you_. It's what they always said to each other, the only thing that could come remotely close to expressing what they felt for each other. Being utterly and entirely understood by someone, accepted, even cherished.

Something he hasn't felt in two years, and now his knees threaten to buckle under the weight of it.

“You're here,” Will says again, reaching out to feel Hannibal's heart under his fingers one more time.

“I'm here,” Hannibal smiles gently, leaning forward to kiss Will's cheek, lips lingering at the corner of Will's mouth. “The bath is nearly drawn.”

“I can't decide if I'm still pissed off or ecstatic. I think I'm both,” Will muses. “I know I'm feeling enough of something that I'd like to kiss you right now.”

Hannibal's smile is just big enough that Will can feel it against him, and it makes it impossible for Will to keep from turning his head and capturing Hannibal's lips with his own.

Will always imagined it differently. Imagined it would be rough and devouring, pouring themselves into one another after so long apart. This is gentle, so gentle that Will thinks his legs might give. Re-acquaintance. Hannibal pulls him flush against his chest, one hand on Will's cheek and the other at Will's waist, sighing softly.

Will's skin tingles, goosebumps peppering his arms as he deepens the kiss, a quiet noise forming in the back of his throat at tasting Hannibal again.

When Hannibal puts a fraction of distance between them, Will feels far too breathless.

“That's just as intense as I remember.”

Hannibal hums, placing one last kiss to Will's bottom lip. “We'll soon be drowning if we don't move.”

He quickly sweeps his hair back into a bun, a little higher this time, and Will tries not to look too disappointed about it. Once in the tub, he sits between Hannibal's knees, back to chest. It's too small for them, the water splashes onto the linoleum every time they fidget, but Will can't remember the last time he was so comfortable.

“No complaints about my shampoo,” Will warns, resting his head on Hannibal's shoulder.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Hannibal replies, voice low and warm as he drags a washcloth down Will's neck and over his shoulder. Will doesn't question why there's no soap on it. He doesn't have to.

“The oil and dogs should be sufficiently erased from that patch of skin.”

“It was the other people I was concerned with.”

Hannibal nuzzles that spot, lips dragging over Will's flesh as he slowly inhales. His arms tighten around Will's torso as he shudders, and Will can't stop himself from tilting his head to the side. Biting his lip, Will threads his fingers through Hannibal's, pressing back into him further.

“How I've missed the taste of you. Nothing in the world overwhelms my senses as you do.”

Will groans and slides his arm up and behind him onto Hannibal's neck, fighting desperately against the urge to arch his back. He's hard, more so than he's been in years, and he can feel Hannibal pressing into his lower back.

When Hannibal speaks again, his breath is warm against Will's ear, voice thick. “Are you still angry with me?”

“Manipulative bastard,” Will laughs breathlessly, feeling giddy, pulling the tie from Hannibal's hair. It brushes his neck and shoulders, ridiculously soft. “I really like your hair.”

Hannibal's response is immediate - narcissist that he is - hips arching to press harder into Will's back as his teeth find Will's pulse point. Slowly, he glides his fingertips down, just barely brushing Will's cock with his thumb.

“Every night, dear-heart. This is what I thought about. Unforgiving memories of the ways you respond to me.”

His hand moves to Will's hip bone, slipping against the soft skin as Will squirms, nails digging into Hannibal's neck.

“How you twitch when I touch you, here.”

Will feels overheated and dizzy when Hannibal splays his palm over Will's chest, the soft pad of his finger circling Will's nipple.

“How you gasp and visibly ache when I lavish attention here.”

His voice is like fire in Will's veins, alighting every nerve ending with driving, desperate need. Will rocks his hips, back to press into the hard cock nuzzled against him, forward for more contact on his own. The water cascades over the edge of the tub.

Hannibal uses his other hand to circle Will's cock, just barely touching. “I'll have you like this, every day, forever, Will, if you'll allow it.”

“Hannibal,” Will pants against Hannibal's jaw, flexing his hips in desperation for more friction, knowing he won't get it. Not until Hannibal is ready to give it.

Harshly, Hannibal scrapes his nail over Will's nipple, but never tightens his grip on Will's cock. Will's back arches, a hiss leaving his lips before he outright moans. It's delicious torture, and Will feels desire down to his bones.

Stomach coiling tightly, Will slides his hand into Hannibal's hair and tugs, forcing a quiet groan from him.

“It's been so long. Please, stop teasing me.”

“Has it?” Hannibal murmurs casually, but Will, even after all this time, can still see right through it.

Will presses his hand to Hannibal's cheek, silently demanding eye contact. “There's been no one, Hannibal. Not since you.”

For a long moment, Hannibal searches his eyes, his own expression blank before it softens and he kisses Will gently.

“I'm taking you to bed.”

They dry off in silence, save for Hannibal's slight chuckle when Will nearly slips on the wet floor. He can't stop staring at the man in front of him, the same man that altered his very existence, left him a shell of himself without so much as a goodbye, and he can't feel anything but happiness. **  
**

Hannibal runs his fingers through his hair, wet at the tips, and tosses it to one side. Will feels his knees give a little. **  
**

“I really, _really_ like your hair.”

Hannibal gives a small grin. “So you've said.” He wraps his arm around Will's waist and drags him forward, biting at Will's bottom lip. “I will carry you to bed, if I must.” **  
**

Will doesn't make Hannibal carry him, though he's slightly tempted. As Hannibal pushes him into the pillows, he has a short moment of embarrassment. Hannibal is used to much nicer things than a double bed covered in dog hair and tattered sheets.

That moment passes as soon as Hannibal is flush against him, kissing him hard. Will wraps his legs around Hannibal's hips, heels digging into thighs.

“I've always prided myself for my patience but I can't seem to find any of it, at the moment,” Hannibal chuckles, pressing down against Will with a groan.

“Two years. That's plenty.”

Practically a lifetime, as far as Will is concerned. He aches, everywhere, desperate to be filled and whole again. But as Hannibal bites at his throat, an unwelcome realization hits him.

“Hannibal,” Will sighs. “Please, tell me there's a bag in this house, somewhere, filled with all the lube and condoms we could ever want?”

Hannibal pauses, then leans back to meet Will's eyes. “You don't have any?”

“No.”

“I'm sorry, I should've been better prepared. I assumed -”

“I didn't - I mean, I had no need for it.”

Suddenly, Will feels panic settling into his chest, trembling hands clinging tightly to Hannibal's arms. There are so many ‘what if’s’ running through his mind, and he's immediately terrified that his last opportunity to feel Hannibal this way, the first opportunity in years, will pass them by because of something so small.

He knows Hannibal would never accept a substitute, he's always been far too concerned for Will's comfort in this aspect, but he's tempted to grab oil from the kitchen anyway. Will wonders, briefly, if he could handle the pain with nothing more than spit. He's almost willing to try.

“There's no reason to sound so distraught,” Hannibal smiles, caressing Will's cheekbone with his thumb.

“There is,” Will says urgently, voice breaking. “I am. I need this. You don't understand because it's different for you, always been different for you but -”

“Breathe, dear-heart,” Hannibal whispers gently. “It's not all that different, I assure you. I only meant that it's not necessary to our connection. I can still feel every part of you, as you do with me.”

“We're the same,” Will chokes. “I see you. Still.”

Hannibal shudders above him, eyes falling shut as he presses his forehead to Will's. “I see you, too. Entirely. Do not think this our last chance, please. Every day, forever, remember?”

Will presses his answer into Hannibal's mouth, tongue and teeth and all the desperation he's felt for the past two years, nails digging into the skin over Hannibal's shoulder blades. It's perfect and it breaks Will's heart, even though he feels more like himself than he has in ages.

“Talk to me,” Will pleads, breath hot against Hannibal's lips as they rock together. “Tell me the things you've done.”

Will's not asking about which shops Hannibal frequents, or operas he's been to, and Hannibal knows it. His cock jerks against Will's at the request, and he hums deep in his throat.

“I killed a man because he dared to remind me of you,” Hannibal breathes, pressing two fingers to Will's mouth. “The color of his hair, an easy smile that made me miss you so entirely, it felt hard to breathe.”

Will groans, digging his heels into Hannibal's thighs as he sucks those long fingers into his mouth, a thousand images behind his closed eyes.

“I felt his spine snap beneath my hands, then I bent his lifeless body into the resemblance of a heart.”

Shuddering hard, Will fights the urge to come as Hannibal's wet fingers slip between his legs. He can see it so clearly, feel it in his bones, the sight of Hannibal ripping away a too-short life with brute force, only to remake the vessel into art. His hands wouldn't shake, his heart wouldn't pound.

But they are now. Will can feel the wild pulse beneath his thumb, the trembling fingers easing their way into him. Because of Will.

“I can see it,” Will gasps, the sound fluttering to a needy moan as he's filled. “You.”

“You always do,” Hannibal whispers reverently, like the sweetest prayer as he slides down to rest between Will's thighs, still fingering him slowly.

Will goes utterly still as Hannibal takes him in his mouth, panting harshly as his stomach clenches with the need to come. It's too warm, too tight, too perfect and Will can barely stand it after being empty and untouched for so long.

Soft hair tickles his thighs as he fists the sheets, entire body shaking as the urge to fuck Hannibal's throat devours him. He bends his knees higher, spreads wider, rocks back on the fingers teasing him, then forward into the heat engulfing him.

“Oh, fuck,” Will whimpers as Hannibal strokes his prostate, simultaneously swallowing his cock to the hilt. “Fuck, Hannibal, I'm so - you're - please, please.”

Hannibal pulls back, throat working as he sighs, moving his fingers faster and wrapping a tight fist around Will's cock. “See me, Will. Fashioning my broken heart for you, wishing you there to lick the blood from my fingers.”

“Close,” Will cries, fisting Hannibal's hair as his back arches.

He can't breathe, can't think save for the images of Hannibal's bloody fingers in his mouth, smearing it on his cheeks, and when Hannibal takes him deep again, throat working around his cock, Will is lost.

He makes a strangled sound as he comes, unable to resist fucking Hannibal's throat through it. It's bright, scalding fire, and he’s entirely lost to sensation, drunk with it. And then it's gone, taking with it all the tension of past years. Aftershocks hit him hard as Hannibal continues massaging that spot inside him, and Will squirms, opening his eyes to take in the sight before him.

Will is struck speechless for a long moment, chest heaving as he stares down at Hannibal. He's stunning, sharp cheekbones and slick lips, silver hair cascading over his shoulders, directing a look of pure adoration as he rests his cheek on Will's thigh, slowly removing his fingers.

Will's throat feels tight, too many emotions to name as he pulls Hannibal up and over him again. He's still hard, and all Will wants is to make him fall apart.

“We'll recreate it together,” Will promises, one hand grasping Hannibal's cock as the other stretches over his ribs. “Two hearts next time. You'll show me how, right?”

The question has the desired effect, Hannibal groaning as he fucks Will's fist, blunt nails digging into Will's shoulders.

“I haven't. Not since our last,” Will whispers, tightening his grip as he drags the pad of his thumb lightly over Hannibal's nipple. “It felt wrong, without you.”

“Will…”

His voice is tight, and Will can't imagine anything more beautiful than Hannibal just like this. Brow drawn, jaw slack and covered in a sheen of sweat, desperation for release seeping from every erratic twitch of his hips.

Will pulls him down by his neck, biting at Hannibal's bottom lip as he encourages quietly, “come on, love, let go.”

There will be blood, Will knows, where Hannibal's nails have carved into the back of his neck, he can already feel the sting. It does nothing but heighten his pleasure as wet heat ropes across Will's stomach and chest. Hannibal growls, low and nearly animalistic as Will strokes him through it, until Hannibal's muscles feel like liquid.

Panting harshly, Hannibal collapses, just barely keeping his weight on his elbows as he hovers over Will. No words are spoken as they catch their breath, sharing gentle kisses and soft touches. With little regard for the mess covering their skin, Hannibal rolls to his side and pulls Will into his chest, wrapping his arms tight as he kisses Will's hair.

“I suppose we need another shower now,” Hannibal muses, smiling at Will's almost-whine. “The first can hardly be considered a bath, as it is.”

“In the morning,” Will replies, groggy and sated and utterly content. “I can't stand right now, anyway.”

Listening to Hannibal's heart, Will feels himself drifting. His eyes are heavy, his limbs even heavier, and it's been so long since he's slept without interruption, be it nightmares or loneliness. He's positive he could sleep peacefully like this, because he's had this before, and he knows how it feels to wake from it, refreshed and happy.

He also knows what it's like to wake up alone.

Suddenly, he's not tired anymore. He presses a kiss under Hannibal's chin and, with a groan, rolls out of bed. He's barely back in the bathroom before Hannibal is behind him, hand skimming down Will's back.

“Your ability to walk returned rather quickly. I think I'm offended.”

Will gives a laugh that sounds weak to even his own ears as he uses a wet cloth to clean himself, handing one to Hannibal as well.

“Do you need something to put on?” Will asks as he steps around Hannibal without meeting his eyes, and pads to the dresser. He slips on a pair of black boxer briefs and a white t-shirt. “They'll be a bit too small but I'm sure you can manage.”

“I've a small case in your kitchen,” Hannibal says softly, watching Will from the doorway of the bathroom, a knowing expression on his face.

Will appreciates the chance to avoid Hannibal's gaze as he walks through his house. Harley and Beaux are both asleep in their beds, ears twitching as he walks through the living room.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, Will downs it almost entirely, dehydrated from whiskey and sex and work. He's not angry again, not really, but the sad realization that he's scared of Hannibal, of being left, before and possibly again, makes him sigh.

He grabs a second bottle and the leather bag, and returns to the bedroom. Hannibal is sitting on the edge of the bed, clean and hair pulled up once more, eyes far away.

“Are you hungry?” Will sets the bag next to him and the water on the night stand. “There's a couple of places around here that are twenty-four hours, though none of them will be to your standards.” He gives a small smile. “I have nothing here that isn't microwavable.”

Hannibal doesn't answer, gaze still focused on the wall in front of him for a long moment before he purses his lips and looks down, opening the bag to pull out a similar pair of black underwear.

He doesn't meet Will's eyes as he stands and slips them on, but his shoulders are visibly tense. A v-neck, grey t-shirt follows.

“May I stay tonight?” His voice is calm, almost detached. “Just so I may sleep before I - I've had very little rest the past three days.”

He feels rejected and it makes Will's heart clench. Will knows that feeling all too well, after all. Before that thought can go any further, make him even more upset, he steps close and cups Hannibal's cheek, forcing eye contact.

“I don't want you to go,” Will tells him honestly.

Hannibal closes his eyes and covers Will's hand with his own, sighing. “Tell me what you're thinking, please. Tell me what to do.”

“I'm still not entirely sure this is real,” Will admits, sitting in the spot Hannibal vacated and dropping his eyes, picking at his thumb nail. “I spent so long with your ghost, conjuring up images of you to keep me company, conversations in my head. I'm scared that I've just broken my psyche completely this time. If it _is_ real, I have entirely different fears.”

Hannibal crouches in front of him, gently gripping Will's thighs. “There's no way for me to eradicate those fears with words. I can only show you.”

“I'd really love to show you New Orleans,” Will says, hope coloring his tone. “Have you ever been?”

Hannibal sits on the bed next to him, leaning down to press a kiss to Will's temple. “I have, but many, many years ago. Though, it's not wise for me to stay in the states for too long. New Orleans is highly populated.”

“You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?”

It's not really a question, but the words feel like acid on Will's tongue. He knows he can't go back, not now, floating through life without reason or meaning, existing to exist. Nothing more. Without Hannibal, he's half of a person, and he's not strong enough to survive it again.

“Yes,” Hannibal responds, quiet and resolute. “I had some measure of hope that you'd come with me.”

His hand falls from Will's as Will stands up, looking like a battle-worn soldier, steeling himself for the outburst he expects from Will. However, Will can't find the energy to be properly angry, he's too emotionally exhausted. He's just disappointed, despite the expectation of it. Of course, Hannibal had assumed, and Will is so weary, he's not even sure why he's upset about the assumption.

“And if I don't? You'll just… leave me again. Disappear without a word and leave me to pick up your pieces.” Will's voice is like gravel as he looks down at Hannibal, heart beating rapidly against his chest.

Hannibal stands again, gripping Will's biceps gently, unwavering gaze that nearly makes Will close his eyes. “If I said I'd stay? Live here, with you, risk being captured and change my entire way of existing, just to stay with you? Will that make you any less angry with me?”

Yes. But that's not entirely true. If there's any scenario that Will can't bear, more so than Hannibal leaving again, it's Hannibal being caged. But it's tempting, to keep Hannibal here, a twisted thought of depriving the world of Hannibal's presence entirely. Will's, only, to keep forever.

“Because I would,” Hannibal continues, darkly serious. “I will. If that's what you require of me. We didn't survive the separation, and I've little interest in making another attempt. You're my life, as well as my death. If my death is right here in this bed, or the gas chamber, I'll take it, for you.”

Instinctively, Will presses close, forehead resting on Hannibal's chest as he clutches him, trying desperately to ward off images of Hannibal strapped down, choking. “Don't say things like that. Don't talk about dying.”

Hannibal kisses Will's hair, squeezing him tight. “I've never feared death, dear-heart. I've never feared much of anything, if I'm quite honest. I am _terrified_ of you.”

Will understands that feeling. The realization of being so wholly linked to another person that even breathing without them is a task. A connection so deep, it resembles drowning.

A connection Will knows he can never be without again. Not that he'd ever truly considered staying in Louisiana when he had the opportunity to leave with Hannibal. He has no ties that he holds dear, and honestly, Alana would not be surprised to hear that Will disappeared.

“Where would we go?”

“Anywhere,” Hannibal vows, all but radiating sudden hope at the turn of conversation. “I currently have a place in Denmark, but it's entirely expendable, if there's somewhere else you'd like to see.”

Will doesn't particularly care where they go, but he's always wanted to see the tropics. He thinks Hannibal would probably hate it, but would do it for him, which just makes Will's heart flutter.

“I'm miserable to live with,” Will admits, staring up at Hannibal.

“So am I.”

“I think I'll be possessive. Jealous.”

He knows it. He already feels jealous of anyone that's spent time with him in the last two years. Keeping Hannibal all to himself is entirely too appealing.

Hannibal smiles, eyes shining as he kisses Will softly. “I've dreamt of killing every person that's shared glances with you in my absence. I'll consider it a victory if I can refrain from chaining you in my basement.”

“My dogs are coming with me.” He can't leave any more behind.

“I would expect nothing less. If you wish, we'll pay a visit to Alana and pick up your others.”

And just like that, Will can see it. Chasing the dogs down a beach, wind in his hair as Hannibal sits in a lounge chair, sketching and complaining about the sand. Happy. Domestic. Free.

“Wait, how did you know Alana had my dogs?”

Hannibal grins, sliding his hands down Will's back. “How do you think I acquired your address? She keeps very detailed records, and her security system is second rate, at best. The spotted one remembered me, I think.”

“Winston. Of course, he did. You fed him sausage.”

“You'll come, then?”

It's not often Hannibal sounds unsure. He's probably the most confident person Will's ever met. Nothing rattles him, he questions nothing in terms of his own life, but right now, he's dangerously close to sounding nervous. As though Will would actually deny him.

As soon as Will nods, he's being lifted and all but thrown to the bed, a very eager Hannibal spreading out above him. Will laughs, a genuine, full hearted laugh for the first time in ages, and it feels weird and wonderful in his throat. Hannibal is absolutely beautiful, eyes glowing and pressing a smile into Will's mouth.

“Anywhere, dear-heart,” Hannibal swears, voice thick as he kisses Will's cheeks, over his jaw and down his neck. “There isn't a place I wouldn't go with you.”

“Even if there's sand?” Will teases, pulling the tie from Hannibal's hair once again, then raking his fingers through it.

“Even if there's sand,” Hannibal agrees absent mindedly as he pulls the neck of Will's shirt aside so he can suck at Will's collarbone.

Shivering, Will pulls him into a deep kiss, happy to ignore the heavy conversation that he knows has to happen, even just for a moment. When they're both breathless, and Will can feel Hannibal hardening against him again, he breaks away, knowing he can't allow the wanted distraction.

“I can't go with you tomorrow,” Will sighs, thumb stroking over Hannibal's flushed cheek.

Hannibal breathes deeply and rolls to Will's side, and as Will mirrors his position, he replies, “I know. It would be irresponsible for you to simply disappear, given our somewhat public history.”

“I'll need to sell the house,” Will muses, frowning as he realizes how long that could take. “My boss is a good man, I won't just walk out on him. And I don't want to go to Denmark.”

“Anywhere,” Hannibal reiterates, smiling.

“Pick someplace warm. A beach, maybe an island. Think tropical.”

“You weren't kidding when you mentioned sand,” Hannibal states blankly, making Will grin. “Very well. Then, I'll need to get a few things in order, similarly. Roatan is beautiful. Perhaps St. Kitts.”

Will is a mixture of anticipation and dread. “This… could take a while.”

The sadness in his voice must be apparent, as Hannibal cups Will's cheek, expression serious but adoring.

“You'll purchase a new phone tomorrow and we can speak as often as you wish. I'm not particularly fond of digital communication, but video calls are another option.”

Will nods, knowing his voice will break if he speaks. He presses close and buries his face in Hannibal's chest, wrapping one arm tight around him. Breathing deeply, he tries to calm the panic rising his throat, the thought of being alone for any length of time after this is too much to bear.

“A month. That should be plenty of time. If your house doesn't sell, I'll move some funds and purchase it myself. In fact, I may do that anyway, in case we need to come back someday.”

Will closes his eyes and listens as Hannibal verbalizes the plans coming into his head. The words are important, but Hannibal smells so good and he's wonderfully comfortable. Will relaxes entirely as Hannibal quiets and begins dragging his fingertips up and down Will's back.

“Rest. We’ll sort everything properly, in the morning.”

“Don't wanna sleep,” Will mumbles, far too tired to be embarrassed about how tight he's clinging. “Scared you won't be here when I wake up.”

Hannibal squeezes tighter and kisses Will's forehead. “I'll be here, dear-heart. I will not leave you again.”

**

Will is awoken at a few points throughout the night and early morning, roaming hands and gentle kisses, shirts thrown to the floor to grasp skin, lazy fumblings of two people who were separated for entirely too long, before they drift back off again.

This time, Will sees the clock as Hannibal spreads above him. It's just past five, his boxers have been removed and Hannibal, also nude, is so hard against his thigh. He's whispering too, sleep-rough voice and thick accent as he speaks in a language Will can't understand but he can _feel_ that the words are filthy. It's still not light enough to make out his exact features, but Will can see the darkness, the hunger in Hannibal's eyes. His hair is tousled, hanging over his collarbones as he bends.

Hannibal isn't the type, usually, to indulge in such typical dirty talk. He said filthy things, sure, but poetically so, rather than primal sin. Will can only think of two occasions, both when Hannibal had been entirely overcome with need, and the filter for his brain had seemed to dissipate. He was also rougher, gripped tighter, pressed his hand to Will's throat and drew blood with his teeth. Closer to the brutal, unforgiving murderer than he usually is with Will.

Will wouldn't say it, but he liked unfiltered Hannibal the best.

“I would slaughter entire countries to be inside you right now,” Hannibal growls, thrusting against Will almost painfully. “Tear the heavens from the skies and challenge the devil himself.”

Sore from sleep and still groggy, Will wraps his legs around Hannibal's waist, mirroring their position from the night before.

“I can take it,” Will promises, because he could, he could take anything if it gave Hannibal what he wanted, what they both wanted more than anything. He sucks Hannibal's fingers into his mouth for a moment and then guides them between his legs. “I need it, too.”

Hannibal thrusts the slicked digits in carelessly, harshly, grinding down harder as his back bows, head lolling to the side and an almost-snarl curling his lip. “Do not say that to me. Not right now.” Then he groans, twisting his fingers. “ _Dievas_ , the heat of you. I ache to feel it wrapped around me.”

Back arching, Will clenches around the intrusion, whimpers, and realizes that sound could be what breaks Hannibal's resolve when a hand is immediately wrapped around his throat, squeezing almost too tight as it holds Hannibal's weight behind it.

“ _Please_ ,” Will rasps, starving for it, desperate to see Hannibal unhinged. “I can take it.”

Another growl, louder this time as Hannibal leans back, crudely spits into his palm and strokes himself, and Will moans helplessly. His legs are thrown over Hannibal's shoulders, nails digging crescents into his thigh as the blunt head of Hannibal's cock presses against him.

“Will.” It's a warning, clear and present in Hannibal's husky voice, still unrestrained but aware enough to make sure Will knows it.

In response, Will pushes down, refusing to cry out at the rough stretch.

“ _Mano Dievas_ , fuck, Will -”

Hannibal's voice is strangled as the head of his cock pops through the tight ring of muscle, and Will bites his own knuckles to stop the grunt of pain. It's worse than he thought, his erection flags momentarily and he struggles to breathe.

Hannibal becomes very, very still, taking slow, deep breaths. Five seconds and his grip on Will's thigh eases, and Will can see his shoulders relax. Then, he seems to stop breathing altogether, slowly, and without moving his hips even a fraction, he leans over Will and kisses him gently.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers, his voice a gentle murmur, no trace of carnality left, perfectly controlled. “This will hurt. Breathe through it, dear-heart.”

The cry of pain finally leaves him as Hannibal pulls out, and he can barely hear Hannibal's quiet gasp. Then, Hannibal shudders hard and drops his forehead to Will's chest, panting slightly. Will fists the sheets in angry sadness, disappointed in himself.  

Hannibal lifts his head and swallows thickly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Forgive me. I was - my composure slipped, and I'm sorry. I've missed you greatly.”

He sounds utterly displeased with himself and Will absolutely loathes it. Will kisses him deeply, tries to physically pull that wretched feeling from him.

“I want you _so_ _badly_ ,” Will whimpers again, feeling bereft and incomplete.

“Soon. I swear it. I'll have you, again and again, until we're entirely indiscernible from one another.”

Hannibal is slick against Will's thigh, painfully rigid, but his body is completely still, save for the gentle kisses he places over Will's throat.

“Your scent is so overwhelming after you've slept,” Hannibal groans, quietly this time, nosing the crook of Will's neck. “It does terrible things to my control.”

Will is painfully hard again, and it's nearly eight when they move to the shower, both sated, both adorned with marks of nails and teeth.

The morning moves too quickly, and Will thinks if they stay in the bedroom, he can grasp a few of those slippery hours back, stop the clock from turning, delay the inevitable. The tension is palpable, suffocating, words avoided as they never stop touching each other, remembering and memorizing. Hannibal manages to find some eggs for breakfast, and though his kitchen is nothing like Hannibal's was, the sight of Hannibal in this environment makes it hard for Will to breathe.

“This hardly fits the description, but breakfast is served,” Hannibal quips, passing a plate to Will.

It's not until Hannibal is cradling Will to his chest that Will realizes he must have looked distraught.

“I don't think I can do this. I don't think I can watch you leave me again,” Will whispers, clinging tightly. “It's not permanent. Remind me it's not permanent.”

He's panicking, he can feel it, fingers tingling and chest tight.

“Breathe, Will. Breathe for me.” Hannibal smooths his hand down Will's back, cradling Will's cheek with the other. “One month. Only to get our affairs in order, and then we'll never be apart again.”

Once they've eaten, they wind up in the bed once again, slower this time, speaking declarations over one another in gentle tones. Will doesn't cry, but Hannibal kisses his cheeks anyway.

Just past noon, Hannibal is back in jeans, and they're standing on Will's front porch. For the first time, he sees a black Toyota parked on the side of his house, and he can't help but laugh at his pretentious lover in such a vehicle. Hannibal left his number, and made Will promise to call him before the day was over. If he didn't answer, Will should text him, leave a voicemail, or simply keep calling until he reached him.

Will takes in the sight of him one last time, knowing he'll be far less casual when Will sees him again. “Don't cut your hair. Please.”

Hannibal gives a small smile and takes Will's hand, kissing it gently before giving up entirely and roughly pulling Will to his chest once more.

When he speaks, his voice is rough against Will's ear. “If you're not at the airport in one month, I'll hunt you down. I swear it, Will. There's not a place on this earth that you could hide from me.”

Shivering, Will clings tighter, unable to hold back the welling of tears any longer at the sound of thick emotion in Hannibal's tone.

When they kiss, it's nearly painful at first, then calming, easing into a lingering press of lips. Their foreheads touch and Will is panting slightly as he says, “I see you.”

“I know, dear-heart. I see you, too. I always have.”

And then he's gone.

**  
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**Author's Note:**

> Comments give me life. Thanks for reading!


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